From the man he was
by Filly Ingles
Summary: This is a Spot story I just started writing set when he is about 24. SPOT I don't know if it is actually a romance yet so I'm changing that UPDATE: Chapter 1 complete. Preview of Chapter 2 up.
1. WAS

**WAS**

I loved him and that's what had messed everything up. Leader of the Brooklyn newsies. At 24 that's what he was still telling everyone; his claim to fame. "I lead all of New Yorks newsies through the strike that won us the ear of Mr Joseph Pulitzer. Made them all sit up and take notice that's for sure!" He would tell anyone who would listen. The bloated pomp of his gloating was only outdone by the talk of all the women he had had the joy of being 'friendly' with. His blue eyes were renowned through New York; he'd be the first to tell you, and slyly suggest that some of the orphans about had the same kind of striking eyes that he did. All of that might have been okay, if he wasn't sitting in a dirty bar without a soul who really knew him, and without a job to support his healthy habit of drinking himself onto the floor.

I never wanted to save him. How do you save someone from their own past? He was so busy living there, reliving it that he had no time to live in the present. It made me ache as I served him glass after glass of whatever he could talk me into giving him. And don't be mistaken he was exceptionally persuasive and I had spent a lot of my nights trying not to give him everything he asked for, and that had little to do with alcohol.

And somewhere between pity and mild interest I'd fallen off the love wagon and fallen into love with him. Him, a shell of a human being, with nothing to offer anyone but tales of past glory. That was all he was. I, the most vehement seeker of something deeper could find nothing myself. Nothing but booze, and smugness and gloating, until the early hours of the morning. Maybe it was because he was beautiful. Rugged and dangerous looking, those shrewd blue eyes, hazed over with alcohol still set hearts beating. I wondered why he didn't do more... why he didn't have a job serving someone who would appreciate that beauty. Cause that's all he seemed to have.

Spot Conlon wasn't worth anyone's time, especially mine. And I tried hard to make sure he didn't monopolize it. I tried even harder to ensure that he never truly found out how I felt. I worked hard for just enough to feed my family. A father, who had worked every day of his life for sixty years to support his large family, and my mother who kept the best home in all of Brooklyn but had no knowledge of how to work outside of the house. And me. The only one left still unmarried. Except for my brother Walter, who was studying and working in Manhattan to make something wonderful of himself. And I, who in my youthful arrogance had snubbed my nose as wonderfully eligible men with jobs and good families, was here in McCarthy's bar serving bar flies, and falling stupidly in love.

"You'd had enough now Spot, the bars closing soon anyhow, be on home with you okay?" I told him as he came to clean up his table. Maybe it was his smile, drunken but still warm like he could actually see me and not the blur I must have been. I think maybe that was why I didn't pull my hand out of his as he caught it and pressed it to his alcohol warmed face closing his eyes and then kissing the back of it. He'd done worse before, the hand up my skirt had seen him tossed out on his backside, so kissing my hand was almost gentlemanly.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for JACK KELLY!" He spat the name with such venom I would have believed he was some bounder and right cad if he hadn't seen my mother and father and I into the home we now lived in. In the short time I'd spent with him, he'd seemed like an upstanding kind of man, the charm of a fox and the buttery words of a poet made my mother easy pickings to his spiels. My father a harder man to fool, appreciated his casual, subtle honesty and common man feel. He had met Walter when he was finishing up his schooling and had promised to take good care of his family. To this point I believed he had taken quiet good care of us. The apartment was the same as before but in a far better neighbourhood with nice neighbours and you could go out and leave your door opened during the day.

"Of course Spot." I agreed trying to prise my hand out of his pair, which were stroking my hand like it was a fine scarf sold in the most expensive stores, instead of the dishpan, alcohol washed hand that it actually was. I suppose if I were to admit to it; that appealed to me as well. I'd known nice boys before, kind boys who would offer a decent complement if they thought it fit. But I'd never known anyone who stumbled through a farce of seduction and yet made me feel like I was a queen that someone had forgotten.

"Everything's gone to hell in a hand basket since that strike Tilly. Straight to hell and if it weren't for Jack Kelly I wouldn't be here, like this, right now." Spot said morosely and I tried not to feel sadness for his life. Not because of the professions that Jack had caused this misery but just a deep knowing sadness that Spot actually believed what he was saying. That if it was true he had given someone else so much power in his life. For the great leader of the Brooklyn newsies he didn't seem to have much say in his life.

I got my hand free and nodded, in that detached way I give any one of the regular drunks here. "I'm sure he didn't mean it. Come on why not get up now." I said patting him on the back to try and appear like I was sympathizing when all I really wanted was him to move his rear from the chair, without being tossed out, so that I could clean the table and stack the chair.

"You don't know what he was like Tilly. All of this... it was his plan. His master plan to build himself up from the unwanted roots of his past. What about my past? What about what I wanted?" Spot asked gruffily, standing slowly, "I tell you Tilly, people don't treat others like they should anymore. After everything I did for him." Spot sighed and while he had vacated the chair like I'd hoped he would, he was now leaning on my shoulder and stroking my hair like the greasy, broken strands fascinated him.

"It's a different time from before Spot that's for sure. Come on let's get you out of here." I sighed and shook my head putting my tray down on the table to slowly guide him towards the door. He followed reluctantly.

"Do you know what it's like to have gone nowhere since the strike while Mr Money Bags is selling the American dream all around New York like some hoity toity snot? The newspaper man paid for that! Do you see a grown man in the company of so many teenage men for the cause? Don't think I don't know what probably went down." Spot said his hands starting to wave around importantly like he was holding a meeting and all eyes were on him.

"That's a despicable thing to say Spot Conlon!" I snapped at him and shoved him just a little into the coat rack, which he hit with a thud, the coat rack not moving, even though I'm sure that Spot thought it was. He reached out for my coat and rubbed it warmly against his cheek, inhaling deeply, and I sighed. These were the little things he did, knowing, I strongly suspected that I would fall for them.

"Help me into my coat dear Tilly." He said pulling his coat off the rack and swaying back and forth as he tried to stand still. I sighed from my throat and held the coat out for him so he could put his hands into each arm and I slid it over his shoulders, and I admit I lingered there with my hands on his shoulders feeling the very male aura of him. I forced myself to pull back and open the door for him, so he would have no choice but to leave.

"Don't send me home darling, let me stay here, I have fallen so terribly for you my darling Tilly. Let me stay with you." He pleaded his hand touching my face.

I started to smile just softly at the feel of his long fingers along my cheek, while my hand slowly went to the middle of his back, even through the alcohol he smelt so strongly of something male, something dominant and primitive, protective and attractive, which made it all the easier for me to push him forcefully out of the door, watching when he landed on the pavement outside. "My name is Olivia." I snapped and slammed the door shut on him.

After I had locked and bolted the door, I stood behind the thick, smoke filled curtains of the pub and pulled them back just enough to see him get up and look around, brushing himself down slowly and surely, making sure no-one was about, before he started to stagger away, unsteadily.

I sighed, the man was no good to anyone. I turned to the tables stacking the chair on top of them as I took the tray out to the kitchen where I had to finish up the washing up. First I decided to take out the trash, the fly's buzzing around it looked like they could be saddled and raced at Sheepshead. I tied the back and stepped out into the alley walking down the three steps and then paused, silently when I saw three dark figures at the top of the alley. I should have just gone back inside, but I stood there silently, waiting for them to leave so the panic would release the grip on my limbs.

"Everything is fine. They won't suspect a thing; they think I'm just another drunk." I knew that voice. It had just confessed its undying affection for me five minutes before.

"And the girl is the last one in the bar every night?" An unfamiliar voice questioned.

"Only on the weekends. Weekdays the boss closes up." Spot said confidently smoke trailing from the cigarette in his mouth.

"And the girl... tell me you ain't got no feelings for her... we say your little seduction." The third voice said and I could feel the rich mocking, I shuddered and closed my eyes, I didn't want to hear what Spot had to say, I did not want to know what he really thought, I just wanted to go back inside and pretend I'd never seen this conversation.

"Her? Of course not! The mouse is just a part of the plan, get her off guard... she is the easiest of the lot to fool. She's an idiot." Spot said and a shot of painful electricity shot down my spine and I wanted to be sick. I wasn't sure why, he had turned out to be even worse than I thought he was, but I had always known he was hopeless.

I stayed still, scared, hurt and impatient as they continued to talk crudely and laugh overtly about what appeared to be a planned heist on the pub. They started out of the alley before I could find out when, and as soon as they were out of sight, I dropped the rubbish bag and dashed back inside, looking the back door and making sure all the other doors were locked as well.

I was not the kind of girl you could consider a hero. I did not go above and beyond the call of duty in my job. This was a way to make money, I wouldn't care if it was robbed, I only wanted to keep my job. I had no desire to call the police or let ANYONE know what I had overheard; I was more than content to fruitlessly wish it would all go away until the time came about.

I gritted my teeth and rolled up my sleeves as I started to scrub the cups viciously. How dare Spot Conlon do this to me! I needed this job. And I was content not to make any waves. How dare he put me in a position where I was the only one who could stop a robbery of the pub. How dare he put me in a position that required action? I knew he was a filthy scum-bucket of a man, it just turned out that he wasn't a drunk but a criminal instead. I'd show him mouse of a woman.

No I wouldn't! That wasn't who I was, and how dare I even think of changing for him!

Yes. I would! He thought I was an idiot who he had fooled? I would show him how much of an idiot I could be.

He was in for a shock tomorrow night. I thought grimly as I continued to do the dishes a plan of vengeance forming in my head. I'd make him sorry.


	2. Preview of IT

*Preview of Chapter 2*

**IT**

I hadn't slept at all the night before after hearing about Mr Conlon's little plans and opinions. Although on the plus side he did have a job, so he wasn't such a horrible prospect as before. Except the job involved violently breaking into a premise and stealing everything someone else had worked for. Mr McCarthy was older, and not very well but he seemed to get by, if they were going to pick someone to rob it could have been someone richer, they had certainly put long drinking hours into the project. That meant he was still an idiot; which was a big tick in the minus column.

I had been tossing idea's over and over and over in my brain all night, I had come to some decisions, things I would do to make Spot suffer for what he had said. And to suffer for making me put up with those morose, repetitive stories about his wonderfully horrible life as a strike leader. It was one thing to not realize how annoying those stories were, it was another entirely to purposefully tell those stories to convince others you were a drunk. That was cruel punishment and he deserved something in return.

*End Preview*


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